College Has No Class
by Zenelly
Summary: Of all the things Levi was prepared to do to get tenure, sucking dick was on the list, certainly, but he thought that was going to be more of a metaphorical requirement than anything else. And yet, here he is, up for tenure consideration after all his years of hard work, and he is ready and willing to get on his knees for this man if it means he has a chance.


**Standard Disclaimers Apply**

* * *

**Chapter 1 - don't you hesitate at all**

* * *

Levi's fingers tighten on his briefcase. Here it is. Yet another moment of truth. Standing in front of the rather unassuming door, Levi waits and shifts his weight from one heel to the other and waits some more. His jacket pulls across his shoulders as he lifts one hand to adjust his tie.

_For how many of these circus acts I've gone through before, _he thinks, disgruntled, _you would think I'd have stopped feeling like I'm about to shit myself._

But then again….

Levi sighs. Then again, this is the first time he's even managed to last long enough at a university to even _get _to the committee for consideration. If he has to leave this university, he thinks he might actually be disappointed. Not surprised, but… It would just _suck _if he had to go now, after he's gotten a halfway decent group of grad students working for him _finally_. He has his bar, his coffee shop, his apartment where the heater doesn't quite work right, and he just doesn't want to have to leave.

"Levi."

He straightens imperceptibly, hoping that none of his inner worry shows on his face. The promotions committee would swarm all over him if they thought they say any sign of weakness. Old, backstabbing bastards. He nods curtly at the professor, who smiles back before pulling the door open for him.

Levi enters a well lit room. It is slightly cramped, with a long table taking up the majority of the space in the room, and a single chair -for him, presumably- has been set out in front of the table. Carefully, he sits down and eyes the promotions committee members across the expanse of wood.

He knows most of them, hell his own department head is down at the far left end. For a moment, Levi examines his familiar features before there is a cough and the sound of papers rustling as the positively ancient committee head assembles his notes. Levi takes a deep breath and clenches his fists somewhere the committee can't see.

This is going to go so well.

"Let's get this meeting in session, shall we? We are here today to review Doctor Levi-"

"Levi," he interrupts, fiercely uncomfortable with the thought of hearing such a cold title drop in the middle of this. "Just Levi will be fine."

The committee head blinks, coughs, adjusts himself before continuing. "Levi, then, for the possibility of becoming one of our tenured professors. In your three year stint here, Levi, you've managed to publish an impressive number of papers. Your team of graduate students and post-doctorates is dedicated and highly trained, and the work they do reflects well on your abilities as a mentor, as well as this department and the university itself. However…"

Oh, there's always a however. Levi lets out a quiet breath, dread and a sick sort of resignation twisting his stomach into knots.

"You haven't managed to bring the department any new grants or any funding whatsoever." The promotions chair slides his glasses down and looks sternly over the rim at Levi, who entertains himself by imagining the old geezer taking a huge shit instead. It doesn't do a lot to calm the anxious roiling of his stomach, but it's still funny. "Care to explain why?"

Levi bites back his initial response of, "Because no one has any fucking sense," and crosses his arms. Leaning back in his chair, he examines the rest of the committee's expressions, all seeming to range from vague interest to a sort of condescending anticipation. Yeah, this was going to go _great_. "No one thinks my proposals are good enough, apparently," he begins. And the frustration and hopelessness that he's been bearing down on just swells up, and Levi, for once, can't think of a good reason to watch his tongue. "Despite all of my ground-breaking research that I've been doing consistently time and time again. And I've always been passed over probably because the NSF has their collective head up their ass," he finishes dryly.

Someone coughs like they're choking.

_Good_, Levi thinks. He already knows where this conversation is going. At least he got something in before they fire him.

It really _isn't _his fault no one seems to like his grant proposals.

Well, okay, there's his attitude, but Levi doesn't think that his abrasive personality should get in the way. His work is driven and direct and almost always on the cutting edge, and when it comes to grants, his science should speak for itself without Levi himself having to come into the equation.

(Levi carefully doesn't look down at his department head. He actually almost respects the man, and he doesn't want to feel this tinge of shame for his anger more than he already does. In for a penny, in for a pound, and Levi is sick and tired of being passed over like this.)

The board members settles down from their offended sputtering and the chairman leans forward again. "Well," he says, clearly casting about for something to say, "the university cannot continue to provide for you being here if you-"

"What? If I don't keep doing what I've been doing for the last decade? I have researched my ass off!" Levi taps his foot sharply against the ground. It's not enough, never enough to rid himself of his mounting frustration. "There have been massive leaps and bounds made in microbiology because of my research alone, not to mention all of the work my grads and post-docs have done. Just let me know what part of that wasn't good enough for you. Was it my late nights in the lab? How clean I kept everything? Or maybe it's the fact that I do my shit better than you do?"

There is no answer to that, and Levi curls his lip in a derisive sneer.

"You know what, if you're going to fire me, just fire me. Don't hem and haw about it like you might change your mind depending on whose ass I end up kissing. I'm the most productive primary investigator you have, and if you can't see that, then you all need to reevaluate your fucking priorities." Levi stands up with a loud screech from his chair, and he takes a deep breath, examining the shocked faces of the promotions committee with no small amount of grim satisfaction. "Thanks for the opportunity to work here, but I'm going to clean out my lab and get my things ready to leave. If any of you has anything else to say, just let me know."

Levi turns on his heel and strides out.

No one stops him, and the door falls closed behind him with a final sort of noise that Levi feels all the way down to his bones.

* * *

It is September, and the wind is just beginning to have the weight of chill in it, chasing off the heat still lingering above the concrete. It has people lifting their faces to it, has faint smiles crossing their expressions at its refreshing touch. Students trail along the pathways, chatting loudly or quietly or not at all, buried deeply within themselves or in other people.

Levi, storming out of Hall Maria, immediately hates every single one of them. The wind does nothing for him, except to muss his bangs. Irritably, he fixes them once, twice, gives up after that as he strides down the sidewalk, students taking one glance at his murderous expression before moving quickly out of the way.

It does nothing to mollify his anger, but it does make him tuck his face down past the upturned collar of his long coat, shove his shaking hands into the pockets. He's just so. So mad. Levi had pinned his hopes on this goddamned university, and now, he not only hadn't gotten tenured, he also probably shot himself in the foot for ever getting hired by another university ever again. And he can't even claim that it was worth it.

Stewing in his thoughts, Levi opens the door to the on-campus coffee shop and strides up to the counter.

"Oh, Doctor! Good to see you! You're looking all dressed up today!" the barista says, chipper in every way Levi resents right now. "We'll get your usual-"

"No," he interrupts harshly. "I want a large cup of the vilest, sweetest, most caffeinated and sugary coffee you have. Shit that could raise the dead on fumes alone. Preferably so loaded you can't even taste the coffee in it."

The barista pauses, her hands already reaching for the pot Levi usually gets his coffee from, served blacker than his undergrads claim his heart is. Slowly, she lowers them and pulls out a different cup. "Any… reason why?"

"So when I inevitably vomit it all back up, there'll be permanent damage from all that sugar and tannic acid left for the fucking department to clean."

She nods like she understands, even though it's blatantly clear that all she really wants is to end the conversation before it gets any more disgusting. Whatever. Levi crosses his arms and waits. The students present are either ignoring him or carefully keeping their heads down while looking extremely confused, and Levi lets out a quiet breath, trying to let the relative calm of the shop sink into him.

It doesn't work.

He didn't really expect it to.

Levi sighs harshly, pressing two fingers to the nigh-on permanent groove between his eyebrows, rubbing it to try to alleviate this headache before it gets started. Oh, he needs to clean. He needs to clean badly. His hands are already shaking with the need for everything to be spotless.

"So," the barista asks, interrupting Levi's musing. "Would you like two or three shots of espresso to go with that?"

Levi decides that she gets to avoid his wrath after all. "Three. I'm going to need it."

* * *

He walks out of there with the sweetest thing he's ever attempted to drink, grimacing at every sip but relishing the faint burn of sugar (and possibly his own gag reflex) as it goes down. Serves them right. If he's going to suffer, he's going to go all out.

Despite his resolution, though, Levi is barely able to drink a quarter of the stupid, sugary shit. He pushes the door to his lab open with possibly an ounce too much force, sending it slamming into the wall.

"Levi!" Petra exclaims, and at her voice, the other members of his team pop their heads up. She hurriedly sets down her pen and paper and goes up to him, tucking an errant strand of ginger hair behind her ear. "How did it go?"

Levi looks her squarely in the eye, glad -as he is every time- that Petra is close to his height so he doesn't have to look up at her like he does so many others. That would just be the fucking icing on the cake right now. He calmly opens his mouth and, in his most levelheaded voice, says, "Get the fuck out of my lab. All of you."

The silence that follows is so, so achingly confused.

Levi _almost _feels bad.

"Captain…?" Erd ventures, and that pitiful tone of voice does it. Levi officially does not want them here anymore. They're all so stupid looking, staring at him with wide eyes and slack jaws, and he doesn't want to explain to them exactly how he's managed to fuck it all up this time. And he definitely doesn't want to hear that stupid nickname Petra gave him when she first joined his team.

"Do you all have shit in your ears or something?" Levi asks acerbically as he sets down the cup. "Get the fuck out of my lab, and take your shit with you. I _need to clean_."

He's not going to deny the sense of satisfaction he gets as they immediately scramble to clear their things and leave. He grunts, pleased, as the last of them clears out. Levi looks around the now empty lab and sighs, feeling the itch to clean burn in him, and he gets to work, pulling out the dustrag, broom, and dustpan first to deal with some of the detritus of students being here.

He sheds his jacket easily, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and tying a handkerchief around his nose and mouth before he gets started. The mindless rhythm of cleaning helps settle the sickly boiling that his stomach is going through right now, and Levi will take the silence where he can.

_What is he even going to do?_

It's only a few minutes later that he's emptying the last bit of dust into the trashcan. Alright, with that done, Levi can get out his mops and sponges. He'll have to heat up some water first; it's been… two weeks since he last cleaned the lab himself, and he can't trust his students to know the proper ratio of bleach to water, no matter how many times he writes it down for them.

"Oho, you really are going to sanitize everything, aren't you!" exclaims a voice from the doorway. "No wonder your grad students came to get me."

Pulling down his handkerchief, Levi turns to glare at Hanji, who is peering around the room with a disgustingly excited face. Noticing that they are under scrutiny, Hanji straightens, adjusting their glasses with a few economical motions, grinning widely the whole time. Levi shakes his head. "No, my team went to get you because they're a bunch of spineless traitors who clearly don't want their PhDs."

"Actually, I think they were a bit more worried that you'd try to autoclave the whole room. At least, that's what they said to me."

Snorting, Levi rolls his eyes. "Please, as if I'd autoclave my lab."

"See, that's what I said!"

"I haven't figured out how to appropriately pressurize this room for it to be its own autoclave. I've told them that before. Bleach will just have to do until the department catches up and starts letting me use vaporized hydrogen peroxide. But no, there's always something about 'safety standards.'"

There's a beat of silence before Hanji bursts out laughing. Levi regards them with a sort of fond amusement, his own mouth twitching into a traitorous smile before he schools it into impassivity again. As Hanji slowly gets themself under control, Levi pulls on a pair of gloves and grabs a mop and bucket.

"What in the world is that smell? Levi, is that your coffee? It's not motor oil, so it can't be. You never get real-people coffee."

Side-eyeing aforementioned cup, he debates internally, finally regretting allowing his tide of bitterness to carry him to the point of ordering shitty not-coffee he doesn't even like. Well. No sense in letting it go to waste. "It's yours if you want it, four-eyes. Just make sure you don't spill it anywhere, or I'll have to kill you."

Hanji's noise of agreement is muffled by the coffeecup. "So, how'd the hearing go? Did you get tenured?"

"Just drink your fucking liquid frou-frou bullshit and get out of here. You're bothering me," Levi snaps.

Hanji grins, and it's _almost _a sympathetic expression. "I'm guessing that's a 'no,' then."

Slamming the bucket down on one of the countertops serves no real purpose, but the loud clatter it makes does make the frustration and twisted hopelessness in him feel marginally better. "Yes, you're right," he grates out. "It was a no. Thank you so much for driving that home. So now, if you'll fuck off and excuse me, I'm going to clean this goddamned lab so well it will make cleaning staff mourn my loss for _years _since they'll never be able to get it back to this pristine of a condition. Then I'll pack up my shit, and give this place the middle finger." Levi turns the faucet on and checks the water temperature before he places the bucket under, letting the sound of water filling it occupy the silence between him and Hanji.

After a few moments, though, Levi sighs and looks up at Hanji, who is shaking their head, long brown ponytail bobbing between their shoulders. "Only you," they say, amusement dripping from every word, "can _clean _passive-aggressively."

"Get with the program, four-eyes. This is very aggressive cleaning," Levi snorts, returning his attention to the bucket of warm water in front of him. He pulls over the bottle of bleach and carefully measures out a small amount, pouring it into the water and swirling the whole thing to mix properly. "There are a lot of things that only I can do. Not that the fucking committee knows that with the shit over their eyes they get from kissing as much ass as they do all day." He reties the handkerchief over his nose and continues his tirade. "I mean, what is it? Are my papers not good enough for them? Have I not written _enough _papers? I'm only published, what, a hundred times at least? Am _I _just not good enough?"

"Actually," comes a new voice, smooth and low and fuck, if Levi wasn't already fired, he's pretty sure he would be now. "It was slightly more to do with the lack of funding you've managed to secure over your past few years here."

Closing his eyes, Levi resigns himself to this conversation that he doesn't want to have. He just wants to clean and focus by cleaning before he has to leave yet another fucking university and try his luck somewhere else. Slowly, he turns around, muscles tense with pent up emotion.

And, of course, there, leaning in the doorway of the lab as though he wasn't just watching his promotions committee tear Levi a new one (or possibly the other way around) fifteen minutes ago, is Erwin Smith.

His department head.

Or _ex-_department head, as it stands now.

"Doctor Smith," he says stiffly. Smith smiles at him, the expression somehow distant before he shifts his shoulders, straightening with a sort of focus that makes Levi tense instinctively. He fights to keep his stance loose.

"Levi, please," Smith says smoothly. Too smoothly. "We've been working together for three years now. I believe that you can at least call me Erwin."

…Is this asshole for real?

Does he not remember essentially firing Levi? Levi waits for a second, but when Smith keeps smiling at him in that bland, noncommittal way he has, Levi has to roll his eyes internally. Fine, he'll play nice. For now. "Whatever you say, _Erwin_," he says, probably a touch too sarcastically, but Levi doesn't have a reason to care anymore.

Smith, interestingly enough, only seems to become genuinely amused at that before he turns to greet Hanji cordially.

Levi clenches his hand rhythmically behind his back, holding back his urge to run or yell at Smith in the tight flex-unflex of his hand's tendons. He eyes his bucket and mop, wondering if he could just begin cleaning if this bastard's here to talk to Hanji, because he does _not _want to be interrupted right now. Reaching out for the bucket-

"Actually, Levi, before you get started with that, there is something I need to talk to you about."

Of fucking course.

Glancing up -and up, god everything about Smith pisses Levi off right now, but his height is always just _unfair_- at Smith, Levi pulls his handkerchief back down to rest around his neck. "What is it?" he asks flatly.

Smith only turns and gestures. "Follow me." He doesn't wait for acknowledgment before he strides out of Levi's lab, and god damn it, Levi hates his presumption that he's just going to follow.

He hates that Smith is right more.

"Keep everyone out of my lab," he orders Hanji as he passes. They smile, wolfish, saluting with sarcasm keen in every line of their stance. Great. It seems like no one is listening to him today when he wants them to.

If the world adhered to Levi's sense of the dramatic, the walk from his lab to Smith's office would be long and tense, the hallways ill-lit, with their footsteps ringing along the walls. Instead, it's nothing in particular. The halls have their typical glow of faint afternoon sunlight; Levi is tense where Smith has no tension visible in his gait or stature; even their steps make only small tapping sounds. Nothing to be remarked about.

The universe is just out to disappoint him today, it seems.

They reach the office in no time, and Smith gestures for Levi to close the door behind him once they enter.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Levi asks after a few moments of silence, hackles already raised and bristling. His lab is on its way to being cleaned up and emptied out, so really Smith has no reason to complain about anything. Other than maybe the swearing in front of the promotions committee, but really, Levi can be excused for that. He's not going to be working here anymore anyway.

Smith doesn't answer immediately, instead settling down in his chair, hands steepled in front of him on the desk. "Please, Levi, take a seat," he instructs.

"I'd like to stay standing, actually." Levi bites back the rest of his words and waits there, just inside the door, jaw clenched tightly.

"I insist, Levi. This isn't a discussion I'm going to have with you looming over me like that," Smith says, faint amusement lurking around his eyes. Levi has almost never wanted to punch someone as badly as he does right now. Almost. But when it becomes clear that Smith isn't going to talk until Levi is sitting, Levi lets out a tight breath and plants himself in the remaining chair. He spreads his hands in a "Now what?" gesture.

Smith smiles again. "Levi, I'm fairly certain you understand the position you're in here."

"The position of getting politely told to pack my shit and leave? Yeah, I got that pretty much down to a science," Levi says sarcastically, scorn twisting his mouth. He really is used to it. It's the reason he's been bouncing around universities ever since he graduated.

Smith leans forward on his elbows, and Levi stares back, outwardly impassive while inwardly caught somewhere in the intensity of his stare. Sometimes he forgets how very broad Smith is, how stupidly charismatic he is, but when Levi is pinned by that look…. "You are a brilliant researcher, Levi. Your reports and papers are utterly immaculate, and the volume and quality of the ones you have published proves that. Despite that, you seem somehow unable to get grant funding, which is why you have been rejected for tenure."

Levi opens his mouth to argue and is stopped as Smith holds up his hand.

"_However_," he stresses, "this department cannot allow a man of your skill slip by, which is why I am going to offer you a deal."

There is a long pause as Levi waits for Smith to elaborate. When nothing seems to be forthcoming, Levi's frown deepens. He waits for a few seconds more before capitulating to Smith's silent (and fucking childish, in Levi's opinion) demands yet again. Sighing, he grates out, "What's the deal?"

Visibly pleased, Smith spreads his hands, leaning back in his chair with a quiet creak of leather. "I come up with the funding for you to remain here another year. In this year, you are going to apply for every grant you possibly can. If you can get yourself sufficiently funded by the time you come around for review next year, I guarantee that you will be tenured."

Levi freezes.

That.

Is one hell of a deal.

"How?" he demands, harsh and immediate as his mind whirls through the possibilities. He's been an assistant professor at various universities for the past decade, and he knows, beyond a shadow of doubt, that there is no 'guarantee' when it comes to getting tenure.

"For a year, I'm going to allocate enough of the department's funding to you for you to continue your research. Your grad students and post-docs should be able to stay on as well, so long as you don't manage to, ah, actually piss off even more of your fellow academics than you already have and completely destroy your chances at actually getting grants."

(Levi snorts at that. Any "colleagues" he's pissed off have deserved it for being narrow-minded old bastards.)

Smith continues. "I can only manage that for a year, however. So you have until tenure consideration next year." Smith lets out a breath and braces his broad forearms on the desk, and it's only when Levi's elbows touch the desk too does he realize that he is unconsciously mimicking Smith. He scowls, but he can't exactly back up now without looking foolish. Smith examines him briefly. "Now, you have to understand a few things before you agree to this.

"Your hissy fit today-" (and Levi rolls his eyes. Who even says hissy fit anymore?) "- did you no favors. Academics have long, petty memories, and they're going to be confused and very angry when you stay on despite their decision to not allow you tenure. I need you to focus first on your grant applications. Let me handle the promotions committee and the rest of the department first.

"Also, you are still expected to carry out all of your previous duties, so don't think that you can hole yourself up just to work on applications. I'm putting myself in a rather precarious position by doing this. Now. Do we have a deal?" Smith cocks an eyebrow at Levi, bored and challenging all at once, and Levi chews on the inside of his cheek instead of answering. "Unless, of course, you don't think you're up to the challenge…?"

Levi's lips pull back in a sneer, and he pushes his chair back with a clatter. "I am _more _than up to your shitty _challenge_. You don't think I can get funding in a year? I'll get funding in a few months. Prove you _and _all of those old bastards wrong. I'll see you tomorrow bright and early, _Doctor Smith_." Levi turns on his heel and stalks to the door, shoulders tight with burning frustration.

Smith's voice stops him with his hand on the door handle.

"One year, Levi," Erwin Smith says, and Levi takes a steady breath in instead of clenching his fist around the door handle like he wants to. "Prove to me that you are worth me sticking my neck out for you like this. Don't make me regret it."

There's a tenor in his voice that makes Levi almost want to salute, but he smothers the urge. Bastard would probably think it was genuine. Instead, he settles for nodding curtly and then getting the hell out of there.

Securing funding in a year.

Not an impossible task, he thinks as he goes towards his lab. Or at least it shouldn't be. But Levi has spent the last ten years bouncing from university to university for one reason, and it always boils back down to funding. The world of academia is remarkably cut-throat, and for whatever reason, and no matter who he turns to, no one seems willing to give him _anything_.

But at the same time….

At the same time, Levi has a small, vicious smile cutting across his mouth. He feels. Excited. Which is something he hasn't been about research in awhile. Or the possibility of last few years, it felt more like he was trying to make associate professor more out of rote than anything else, and this…

After so many years, it's refreshing to feel like he has something akin to a purpose again. Hopeful, almost, if he was going to apply words like that to himself.

Levi slams open the door to his lab, taking no small amount of pleasure in the way his grad team flinches when he does.

"I see you all skulked back in the instant you felt safe."

"Doctor Hanji came to get us," Petra admits. She twists her fingers together in a rare show of anxiety. "Doctor-, I mean, Levi. Captain. What's happening? What are we supposed to do?"

Levi lets out a long breath, surveying his students, their tired and hopeful faces, and his resolution finally solidifies in his gut. He squares his shoulders. "I was denied tenure."

There is a stricken quiet, and Levi sees the realization of what that means for them just sink in. He shakes his head and keeps talking, voice harsh, "So this is what's happening. We have a year. In that year, it is my goal to secure funding so I can get tenure, and it is your responsibility to do your best damn work you've ever done to show how _grateful_," and he grates the word out, hating Erwin Smith and thanking him at the same time, "we all are for this continued opportunity to keep studying and working here. Got it?"

His team visibly deflates, Petra sighing and seeming almost relieved.

Levi forgets, sometimes, that it's not just him who needs this job. They need it too. Without him there, his grad students would lose almost any chance they had at completing their degrees. He nods curtly to himself before he claps his hands. "We have a shitton of work to do. Let's get to it. But first, get out of my lab. I need to finish cleaning."

* * *

[.end chapter 1.]


End file.
